Secrets
by allthingsdecent
Summary: House babysits Rachel, with predictably disastrous results.


House was bored.

Cuddy was in Manhattan, seeing some Broadway show with the girls. Julia was supposed to have watched Rachel for the night, but then one of _her_ little brats got sick and Arlene was on a cruise and this left the third allegedly responsible adult in Cuddy's life to babysit Rachel.

"Can't your mom come home a day early?" House had groaned.

"House, she's in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean," Cuddy said.

House sulked a bit, then raised an eyebrow.

"Will you at least make it worth my while?" he said.

"When _don't _I make it worth your while?" she snorted.

"Good point," he conceded, putting his arms around her. "But I'm talkin about the deluxe stuff. Garters. Handcuffs. Ticklers. You know—birthday sex."

She smiled.

"Let's see how well-cared-for Rachel is when I get home," she said, kissing him. "Speaking of birthdays. . . guess whose is coming up on the 21st?"

"Mr. T's?" House said.

"Oddly true. Also, mine."

House smirked.

"Ahhh," he said, pretending to be surprised.

"Don't be a jerk," Cuddy said, playfully hitting him.

"Never."

And they kissed again.

Now he glanced briefly at Rachel.

She was on the floor, about 6 inches away from the TV (Cuddy didn't let her sit that close, which House thought was ridiculous; it wasn't like the TV was going to _swallow_ her). She was munching on Honey Nut Cheerio's straight out of the box and watching some animated film called Despicable Me for what seemed like the 400th time. If House heard that little cartoon girl says, "It's soooooo fluffy" again, he might actually throw himself from the window.

He turned up his headphones and tried to focus on John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. He loved the rawness of Coltrane's playing. He never tired of it; it was his Despicable Me.

His phone vibrated. He looked down. It was Hank, one of the guys he sometimes played poker with. He yanked off his headphones, answered.

"House's nanny service, House speaking," he said.

"Get your ass over here, House," Hank said. "Carl dropped out. We need a fifth."

House frowned.

"No can do. Watching the rug rat."

"So bring her over," Hank said.

House laughed.

"Have you _met_ my girlfriend?"

"What time is she getting home?"

"Past midnight."

"Then she'll never have to know."

"Oh yes, because 3 year olds are so great at keeping secrets."

"Bribe her with a lollypop."

"I don't think so…" House said skeptically.

"Lou brought Cabanas," Hank said. He was referring to a kind of expensive Cuban cigar.

House looked at Rachel again. She was mesmerized by the movie. She could be equally mesmerized in Hank's den, he supposed.

"Do you have a DVD player?" he asked.

"It's 2012, everyone has a DVD player."

He thought it over.

"Gimme 15 minutes," he said.

#####

He had packed up Rachel's pajamas, her blankie, her favorite doll (named "Shirley" for reasons unknown), two more DVDs (Lilo and Stitch and Monsters Inc.), 3 coloring books, two packs of crayons, some animal crackers, a container of all-natural fruit juice, and her sippy cups. (He was basically packed for a 4 day trip).

"Wanna go on an adventure?" he asked her.

"I'm watching my movie," Rachel said, not looking up.

"What if the movie comes on the adventure? And Shirley can come, too."

Rachel yawned, not impressed.

"I'll buy you a lollypop on the way over."

Now she regarded him.

"The kind with the swirly colors?"

"Yeah, the kind with the swirly colors."

"Okay," she said.

"You're a shark, kid. One day you're going to be very rich and support me and your mother in our dotage."

Rachel giggled. Not because she had any idea what that meant, but she liked the idea of being a shark.

They drove to Hank's house. House actually put her in the car seat, which he thought was the equivalent of robbing a bank but paying highway tolls in the getaway car.

He set her up in front of Hank's TV—she was totally fine; she liked House's friends, they wore funny hats and called her "Card Shark" (she had introduced herself as a "shark")—and tried to concentrate on the game. But he was distracted.

"I fold," House said, laying his cards down. "I'm going to go check on Rachel."

"She's fine," Lou said. "I can hear her laughing at the TV."

"BRB," House said. He poked his head into the family room.

Rachel was splayed out on the sheepskin rug, drinking from a sippy cup, and eating animal crackers. The TV was about twice as big as the one Cuddy had. She was in some toddler version of a deluxe hotel.

He went back to the game.

Hank lit a cigar.

"You can't smoke that thing!" House said. "Rachel's in the next room."

The men exchanged looks.

"Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?" JT said.

"You know you can't smoke around little kids. I'm . . . responsible for her."

"But I lured you here with the prospect of smoking one of these beauties," Hanks said.

"I didn't realize how close she would be." He could see Rachel through a slit in the door, one room over.

"Lighten up, House," Hank said. "Emphasis on 'light' and 'up.'"

He took a luxurious drag of the cigar.

The other guys laughed. They all lit their cigars.

"Mmmmm," JT said, sucking on his cigar.

House stared at them helplessly.

"Give me one of those, you assholes."

####

House usually cleaned up at poker, but he was listless and unfocused the whole night. He lost 85 bucks.

Rachel was sound asleep by the time the game ended. He hated to wake her up, but there was no way he could carry her _and_ the giant overnight bag he had packed. It was tough being a crippled criminal mastermind.

"Hey little one," he whispered, shaking her arm. "Time to go home."

She blinked at him.

"Hi House," she said.

"Hi kid."

"Where's Mama?" she asked groggily.

House looked at his watch. It was 11:15.

"Hopefully at least an hour away from here," he said.

#####

He did beat Cuddy home, albeit barely. Luckily, Rachel crashed right away. He took a quick shower to wash the smoke off him, then gargled three times. He threw the overnight bag, still fully packed, in the closet. When he heard Cuddy's key in the door, he dove for the couch, flipped on the TV.

"Hey," he said, with the casual voice of a man who had been sacked out in front of the TV all night.

"Hey back," she said.

She collapsed on the couch next to him, kicked off her pumps, put her legs on his lap.

"I'm exhausted," she sighed.

"Fun night?" he said, rubbing her feet.

"Amazing. You should've seen this little boy dancing. He was incredible." The she chuckled. "You would've hated it."

"You know me well," he said.

"How'd Rachel do? Was she a pain in the ass to get to sleep?"

"I find that the key to getting her to sleep is giving her lots of candy and letting her run around until she crashes."

This was calculated. Admit to minor sins, to distract from the major ones.

"Parent of the Year candidate you're not," Cuddy chuckled. Then she popped up.

"I'm going to go check on her."

"Meet you in the bedroom?" House said.

"Deluxe sex is going to have to wait," she said, yawning. "I'm beat."

"How bout plain ol' vanilla sex?" House said.

Cuddy shook her head.

"We'll see," she said.

Five minutes later, she came into the bedroom looking concerned.

"Did you have anyone over to the house?" she asked.

"No," House said, cautiously. "Why?"

"I kissed Rachel goodnight and I could swear her hair smelled like smoke."

"Weird," House said.

"You sure _you_ didn't smoke?"

"Of course not."

"That's so strange," Cuddy said.

"I did pick up Gino's for dinner," House offered, as though the idea had just popped into his head. "Maybe it was the smoke from the meat?"

"You didn't feed her any of that crap did you?"

"Of course not!"

Righteous indignation from the guilty party.

"Good," Cuddy said.

She unzipped her dress. It fell quickly to the floor. Then she wandered into the bathroom in her underwear.

House watched her from the bed.

He loved looking at Cuddy naked. The day he tired of looking at her body would be the day they should just put him out to pasture permanently. No other woman had ever given him such an erotic charge—ever.

Cuddy came back into the room, opened her dresser drawer.

He had come to learn the code of her nightgowns.

The really skimpy see-through ones—the ones that barely skimmed her hips—meant she was as horny as he was and it was going to be a wild night. Flannel meant "forget about it." The silk nighties that hit her thigh meant sex, but nothing too ambitious.

She put on a silk nightgown, thigh-length, smiled demurely at him.

House smiled back happily.

Vanilla sex was better than no sex at all.

####

Rachel was unusually rowdy at breakfast the next morning.

"I'm a card shark!" she announced to Cuddy.

Cuddy flipped the pancake she was making and gave House a curious look.

"Why does she keep saying that?" she asked him.

House took a swig of coffee. "Watched Finding Nemo last night," he said.

Cuddy furrowed her brow. "Oh," she said.

She turned back to Rachel.

"You want another pancake?"

"Ante up, mama!" Rachel said.

House cringed.

"What?"

"Ante up!" Rachel repeated, banging her fork on the table.

Cuddy turned off the stove—_oh shit_—and faced House, her mouth open.

"Did you take Rachel to a poker game last night?"

House took a bite of toast, tried to act casual.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't lie to me, House," she said.

Another bite of toast, mouth full: "I'm not lying."

Now Cuddy turned to Rachel.

"Did House take you to a card game last night?"

Rachel's eyes widened. She looked over at House. He shook his head vigorously, but stopped, pretended his ear itched, when Cuddy noticed him.

"Don't look at him. Look at me, sweetie. Did House take you to a house where men played cards last night?"

Rachel was dumbstruck. She stared at her mother.

Finally, she nodded mutely.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. . ._

Cuddy's face turned red. House thought he could actually see smoke coming out of her ears.

"Are you out of your mind?" she said.

She wasn't yelling, so as not to alarm Rachel. Her voice was eerily quiet, which was actually scarier.

"You took my three year old daughter to a poker game?"

"It wasn't like it was in some speakeasy in the Bowery. It was Hank's split-level ranch in Princeton."

"Where men were _smoking_?"

"That was out of my control."

Cuddy gave the most derisive laugh House had ever heard.

"I can think of a way you could've controlled it," she said. "_Don't take her to a poker game to begin with_."

Then a thought crossed her mind.

"She had smoke in her hair, House. Did you give her a puff, too?"

"Of course not!" House said, righteously.

"You forfeited all rights to indignation the minute you abducted Rachel from this House, took her to a stag party, and _lied to me about it_!"

Now she _was_ yelling.

"I would hardly say I abducted her," House said.

"You took my child from my home without my permission. I'd call that an abduction!"

Rachel began to cry.

"I didn't mean to do bad!" she said. "I didn't mean it!"

Cuddy turned to her.

"Oh, honey. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad at you. I'm _extremely_ mad at House. Let's go to your room and get ready for pre-school, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel sniffed.

Rachel looked at House. She knew, intuitively, that she had betrayed a trust.

He gave her as reassuring smile as he could muster under the circumstances and rested his head in his hands.

"I can't believe I had sex with you last night," Cuddy hissed at him.

"Vanilla sex," House said through his hands.

#####

At lunchtime the next day, House found Cuddy in the cafeteria, sat across from her.

"You talking to me yet?" he asked.

The morning after Cuddy found out about the poker game, they had driven to the hospital in an icy silence. When he went to kiss her goodbye in the car—a little pre-threshold-of-work ritual they had started—she had turned away in disgust. At the end of the day he wandered by her office for a ride home.

"Dr. Cuddy already left for the day," her assistant said. (This wasn't quite as mean as it sounded; she knew his motorcycle was parked in the garage.)

Another night of the cold shoulder—and this morning, Cuddy had left for work before House had even gotten up.

Now, she didn't look up from her Cobb salad.

"I'll take that as a no," House groaned. "You know, giving me the silent treatment is not very mature, Cuddy."

Just then, Wilson appeared at the table.

He sat down next to House.

"How's my favorite domestic duo?" he said cheerfully.

"Fabulous," Cuddy said sarcastically.

"Just ducky," House said through grit teeth.

"Alrighty then," Wilson said, rising. "Bye-bye."

"Sit!" Cuddy barked.

Wilson sat obediently.

"Would you believe this moron took Rachel to a poker game behind my back—where they were _smoking cigars_?" Cuddy said.

Wilson looked over at House.

"You played poker without me?" he said, hurt.

Then he realized that was probably the wrong response.

"That was very irresponsible of you, House," he said.

"I'm aware of that fact."

"Have you apologized?"

"She hasn't given me a chance to apologize. She's punishing me with her silence."

"That's not very mature of you, Cuddy," Wilson said. Then he turned back to House: "House, apologize to Cuddy."

"I'm sorry, Cuddy."

Wilson smiled, leaned back in victory.

"There! Problem solved."

Cuddy glared at him.

His smile dissolved.

"Nice try," Cuddy said. "It's not just that he took my toddler to a den of iniquity—"

"A rancher in the suburbs," House corrected.

"It's that I feel like I can't trust him. Ever. All he had to do was sit with her in the house for a few hours. And he can't even manage that."

"I was bored," House mumbled.

"Parenting is boring!" Wilson and Cuddy said in unison.

"Rachel had a great time," House said. "She got to lie on a fluffy rug—you know how much she likes fluffy things—and watch her movies and drink from her sippy cup. It's not like I sold her into a black market child slave ring."

"Not funny, House," Cuddy said.

"Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

"I need to know this kind of thing will never happen again. Ever."

"It won't," House said quietly.

"I need to believe it."

He looked her in the eyes.

"I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I'm still trying to get the hang of this parenting thing. But you need to know that I love Rachel and I would die before I ever let anything happen to her. And I promise it'll never happen again."

Cuddy studied him, hesitated.

"I choose to believe you, because I'm a sucker and I always manage to convince myself that you'll do better."

"I will."

Then she stood up.

"I'll see you at 7," she said. There was still an edge in her voice, but this was at least a thaw. It meant she was going to drive him home. "And pay for my lunch."

She strut off.

House exhaled.

"Thanks pal," he said to Wilson, watching her walk away.

"There were cigars?" Wilson said.

#####

After dinner that night—terse conversation, not quite back to normal—Cuddy put Rachel to bed.

She tucked her daughter in, went to leave, then stopped.

"Hey Rach? Has House ever taken you on any other secret adventures?"

Rachel didn't know what to say.

"I. . ."

"It's okay. I'm your mommy. You can tell me anything."

Rachel peered at her.

"He took me for mint chocolate chip ice cream once," Rachel said.

Cuddy smiled, shrugged. Of course.

"Anything else?"

"He took me to the sparkly place."

"What sparkly place?"

Visions of some sort of Vegas-style lounge were suddenly flashing in her mind.

"The place with the pretty necklaces and rings and things."

"A _jewelry store_?"

Rachel nodded.

"House took you to a jewelry store?"

"He needed help with your pwesent."

Cuddy couldn't help but to smile.

"My birthday present?"

Rachel nodded solemnly.

Cuddy knew she shouldn't probe any further, but she couldn't help herself.

"He. . . bought me something?"

"A necklace!" Rachel said. "I helped picked it out! And I said it was sooooo pretty and House said but not as pretty as mama because nothing is as pretty as mama."

"He did not say that."

"Did too! And then we ate hot dogs!"

Rachel wasn't supposed to eat hot dogs, but Cuddy didn't even care. _Nothing was as pretty as mama._ She was officially a pile of goo.

"Thanks baby," she said, kissing her daughter's cheek.

"Good night, mama."

"Good night."

#####

House was lying in bed reading a medical journal.

He looked up.

"We okay?" he asked, hopefully.

"Better than okay," she said.

"I actually did something right?" he cracked.

Cuddy looked at the floor.

"I know I shouldn't have, but I just talked to Rachel…" she said. "I know about the secret trip to the jewelry store." Then she held out her hand impatiently: "Gimme."

He squinted at her.

"Give you what?" he said, playing dumb.

"My birthday present!"

"Umm, excuse me, Mata Hari, but your birthday is not for 5 more days."

"I know. But I can't wait. I want to see it."

He chuckled, shook his head, limped to the closet. He grabbed a beat up leather doctor's bag that was tucked in the corner—House loved vintage medical supplies—and pulled out a long velvet jewelry box, handed it to her.

She opened it. It was a diamond and emerald necklace, in the art deco style.

"Oh my God, it sparkles," she said, somewhat agog.

He watched her reaction, smiling.

"C'mere," he said.

She walked up to him. He stood behind her, put the necklace on her, then pulled her hair away from her neck.

"Beautiful," he said, almost too himself. He had always thought that her slender neck and magnificent breasts were the perfect frame for a necklace.

"I love it," she said, staring in the mirror, her eyes glistening with tears.

"And I love you," he said, watching her.

There was no better feeling in the world than making Cuddy happy. It was better than any drug.

"I love you, too," she said, smiling through her tears.

She turned, kissed him softly on the mouth. Then she took off her dress, went to her lingerie drawer and put on a skimpy see-through nightgown that barely skimmed her hips.

THE END

"


End file.
